


Coming. Up.

by Savageandwise



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M, McLennon, Tumblr Prompt, Work of fiction, not my take on reality, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: John's reaction upon hearing "Coming Up".It's coming up like a flower...





	Coming. Up.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bakerstreetafternoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetafternoon/gifts).



> This story was written for a prompt given to me by the wonderful bakerstreetafternoon:  
> John gets off to 1964 Paul in the Coming Up video.
> 
> I originally posted it on tumblr but I'm moving some of the prompts onto here- the formatting works better.

He’d taped it off the telly. Fuck, what else was he doing all day anyway? He’d taped it as a reference. Just a reference. Because he saved little things like that. Music videos he liked and articles and book reviews. Things he might want to get into one day when he decided to get back into things. He marked it: CU(nt). He must have watched it a hundred times already. Just trying to catch all the little references Paul had built in and it was clear. Clear as… clear as day… clear as all fucking get out that Paul had done it for him.

  


_Coming up like a flower…_

  


_(Love is a flower, you have to let it grow)_

  


_And if you’re searching for an answer…_

  


_(Love is the answer and you know that for sure…)_

  


_You want some peace and understanding…_

  


Well, you get the bleeding picture. It was fantastic. Bloody fantastic. He’d been in the car with Fred the first time he’d heard it. And it had been like a lightning bolt. (Straight to the cock.) For one confused moment he’d wondered who was singing this amazing song. He should have known right from the start. No one else got him from zero to one hundred like that. No one but Paul.

“Fuck a pig!” he’d exclaimed. “It’s Paul!”

He’d wanted to listen to it again. In his leisure. Really let it sink in. Really let himself hear what Paul could do that he couldn’t. So he’d made Fred go out and buy him a new stereo system. Because he’d wanted one anyway. There was a new one out he’d had his eye on and really, once he had a new system he might as well get a new record to go with it.

He listened to the song until it was just noise. That’s when Fred told him about the video clip. It was almost entirely Paul except for when it was Linda. And damn if she didn’t look more like her husband every day. He was having a laugh. Dressing up in all those silly outfits, prancing about in his camp way. It was the Cardin suit that did it though and the mop top. He still looked exactly like that boy. That lovely boy. John hadn’t wanted the suits at first. That was Brian’s idea, those suits. John had thought they looked like poofs. Later in his room he’d found Paul in his bed, on top of the sheets, still wearing his suit, shiny boots and all. He’d liked the suit so much better on the floor at the foot of his bed.

In his bed now, in the Dakota building, John lay watching the video over and over again. Watching Paul sing and dance at him, teasing him, reminding him that once, years ago, John could have him whenever he wanted him. That arch of his eyebrows, that shake of his head, that ooh ooh. John was harder than he’d been in days, hell, weeks, months. He was harder than he’d been in years. The door was already locked. He pressed pause on the image of that grey suited lad and fumbled with the buttons of his jeans, shoved his trembling hand under the waistband of his underpants. He’d already come a little in his excitement, like a teenager. And when he gripped himself hard and started to stroke slowly he remembered the boy Paul had been, watching him as they wanked together at Nigel Whalley’s house. 

Later, much later, in Paris, in fact -(Gay Paree)- he’d whispered in John’s ear: “I wanted to knock your hand out of the way. I wanted to do it to you.”

Competitive boy, he made John’s blood boil.

John thrust into his fist, eyes locked on the screen, at that curl of Paul’s lip, at the challenge. He thought of the way Paul could get him off with a few practiced strokes. How he could reduce John to tears of pleasure with a single kiss. He reached for the remote, pressed play. That daft grin, the way he gripped the neck of his bass, the way his voice went from hard to soft and back again. And again. And again. And oh, oh, god, Paul. Oh, Christ. He spilled all over his hand, all over his jeans and underpants. John came so hard the world went black for a moment and all he could hear was Paul singing.

  


_It’s coming up, it’s coming up_

_It’s coming up like a flower_

_It’s coming up. Yeah._


End file.
